Comedy of the Week - Scott Agnew: Dead Man Talking

Episode Date: August 26, 2024

Scott was disappointed there was nobody waiting for him when he died. In this episode he ponders whether someone was in fact watching over him and tells the most unbelievable funeral story of all time. With an unexpected apology from his mum, a trip to get measured for a suit and rolling down a hill chased by a bunch of OAPs - this is an episode packed with anecdotes and revelations.The final episode in a trilogy of tales that gets into the gritty and grim goings on that nearly saw Scott pushing up the daisies. Each episode is far from a forlorn fable, but rather is bursting with colourful, lively stories of the people who have shaped Scott's life and helped him along the way. This is more than just a life story, this is Scott's death story.A stand up series, written and performed by Scott Agnew Produced by Lauren Mackay Audio recorded by Chris Currie and Niall Young

This is the BBC. This podcast is supported by advertising outside the UK. BBC Sounds music radio podcast. I'm Sklag New Glaswegian comedian, former journalist and I'm the Dead Man Talkin' from the show title. Previously on Dead Man Talkin', you've heard about my battles with my mental health, my attempted suicides, my crystal meth addiction, my HIV diagnosis, contracting Covid and my heart attack leading to three cardiac arrests arrests all but the time was 40. So if you're tuning in for the first time,

you've not missed much. LAUGHTER For those of you that were with us the last time, I promised to tell you what was revealed to me when I was dead in the back of the ambulance. And what happens to you when you die? Ooh! I'll tell you what happens to you when you die? I'll tell you what happens to you when you die. Nothing!

Bugger all, hee-haw, right? There was no signs for the other world, there was no fairies or ghosties or saints or souls or messages from the dear departed. All it was, was a very quiet, gentle blackness. It was calm, it was peaceful. Five stars on TripAdvisor. I would recommend.

We'll come again, whether I want to or no. I'd pondered whether I had an allergy to ambulances. Because I realised it was every time I went in the back of an ambulance, I died, was that the issue? Three times my heart stopped in the back of that van, three times those paramedics restarted it in the journey to the heart surgeons from the A&E, and the peacefulness and the gentleness that I was enjoying in death was broken when I was taken out the ambulance straight into the surgery.

The first thing I heard was the surgeon going, my heavens, what size is he? LAUGHTER I was like, I'm 6 foot 5 and 25 stone, what day time have we talked about a woman's weight? What he meant actually was the size of my heart, was the size of the artery, right? Because it was 90% blocked and it kept on collapsing and that was why I was going into

cardiac arrest and he needed to put a stent in to open it up. Now, the average size of a stent that goes in somebody's heart is 1.5 millimeters and I needed a five centimeter stent. 50 millimeter stents and the surgeon's arse is going like a trumpet because he knows the manufacturers of stents only make them up to 38 millimeters and he's trying to remember his days back in Blue Peter with sticky black plastic but how he's going to build a stent right and that's what's keeping me going. I'm essentially running like an old cotton shirt out the auto trader. Glaswegians we don't enjoy a silence right we don't we don't like a silence. I assumed, having had a heart attack and three cardiac

arrests, that there would be some kind of monastic silence. And it wasn't like that at all. Certainly not when my mother, Ethel, got to my bedside. We couldn't touch one another because I'd had the Covid and I was in a private ward and I've never seen her look so scared and so terrified. And she looked, she went, well I wasn't expecting that. Oh where do you know that's funny, because I had it marked in the diary. And then out the blue she goes, I think they've got an apology to make. And I'm in my bed looking at her and thinking, how can this woman, my mum, who's watched

her son's life kind of unfurl to become some kind of flag bearer for cliche, right, a Glaswegian that had a heart attack at 40, a comedian with mental health issues and a gay man with HIV and she's dealt with all of them with a plomb. With hysteria as well, but a plomb, right. And she's always supported me and always looked after me and always helped me. How can she possibly have an apology to make? I said, what is it you've got an apology to make for?

She went, I do, I do have an apology to make. When they were rolling you back in to the ambulance the second time, she went, somebody came up to me, she went, I'll be a paramedic or somebody, I don't know, and they said, if there's anything you need to say to him, this is the time to say it. And I thought, God, that must have been horrible, you know, must have been really difficult. And then she went, so I'm sorry. And I went, what are you sorry for? What did you say? I wonder if she confessed something, do you know what I mean? Oh, you're adopted.

The thing is, I never said anything. She went, I had nothing prepared. It's not as if I were at the bath house or something. Right? And then she went, oh, and I'll tell you another thing. You were lucky. Oh, I'm feeling lucky. Right?

She went, can you imagine if you'd ignored the 10 days self-isolation for the COVID? She went, if you'd ignored that and you'd went to your Auntie Sandra's funeral yesterday, you'd have been carrying that coffin and your heart would have just exploded in your chest and you'd have dropped down dead right there and then. She would have as well just have opened up the coffin and put you in with your Auntie Sandra. And she kind of went on and on like

this and I'm thinking, I'm loving this because this is my mum, this is home, this is comfort and I might never ever have had it again. And she keeps on, do you mind that wee funeral director at your granda's funeral? If you still get your suit, you go up for your granda's funeral because that's when you started putting the beef on, right? LAUGHTER And it was when I started putting the beef on, right? And my grandad, he died 90 years of age, he lived a good, good long life, and he had a, you know... But it was still traumatic because I had went to try on

what I thought was my funeral suit, right? And do you know that way got all... It was a bit neat. I couldn't get it by my fat knees, OK? LAUGHTER I thought, oh, I need to go and get myself a suit. Now if you're a Glaswegian and you need a suit, where do you head to? Slaters. Slaters, exactly.

I asked that and wish on it and somebody shouted, Georgia Asda! But... My grandfather had died, I'm gonna need a suit. I get up to the gent's floor and as soon as I walk onto the sales floor there is this 22 year old with a 26 inch waist with a wee measuring tape round about his neck and I know this wee guy from round about the gay scene and I know he's a pure bitch

and I got to him and he went can I help you?? I went, I'm looking for a black suit, you know, for a funeral. Oh, sorry to hear that, sorry to hear that. I will have to measure you. I went, oh, that's fine, nobody, don't bother. Just put your arms out. I put my arms out and he started with the measuring tape on my belly button and he get round by my left hand side. And just as he got to the back of my left love handle, he went,

could you hold that at the back there? Because I can't quite reach. You need to die in a bin fire young man. And he got all the way around, measured me. Now if you've been in they never tell you what measurements you are. He just went, follow me. And now you start this kind of sponsored walk, okay? The fat man's clothes is at the furthest point from the front door, right? And they march you, they make you do that walk of shame all the way up. And because they've not told you what measurement you are, you start to guess. Should dinner fit into the ones there?

Keep on moving fatty. You're still walking, you're still walking, you're walking for ages. You're like, I must have lost an inch or two by now, we've been walking for about 20 minutes. Keep on marching. He then hands you over to another sales assistant, it's that far away, you've suddenly become a chubby baton in a fucking relay race. You get all the way up to the far end, and there's just this big mound of material. That's the black suit. The suit that is both too tight and too baggy.

You try it on, you look like the kebab at Mecca. Just a big black box. How do you feel on that? Have I got an option? No. So I'm at my grandfather's funeral. We had a humorous ceremony for my grandad's funeral. Simply because my grandad, he kept religion for very special occasions. Old firm days. Four times a year was the only time he was interested in religion in the slightest.

Plus my grandfather wanted something in particular for his... He wanted a spray of flowers with his initials on it. And there was no way the Catholics were going to permit my grandfather having this. Right? Because my grandfather was called George O'Donnell. G-O-D. G-O-D. There is no way the Catholics were burying gods, by the way. They were at the cemetery and he's got his big spray of flowers that says God on it, out of the side of the grave.

Now, I had spotted the wee funeral director. Looked as if he might have enjoyed a night out, right? I thought, he looks a wee touch the worst for wear. And I'm like, do you know, fair enough, right, he's got to get a night out as well, that's all right. And we've lured granddad into the grave and we've got the wee red ropes and we drop them by the side of the grave

and we step back. And this is when I was certain the funeral director had a night out, okay? Because he was a bit casual. As he was walking around the grave, just kicking. Just kicking the ropes into the grave. You know? Do you know, like he's practicing penalties or something, right, just... And as he get round to the side, he went for another kick and the red rope got caught under that plank of wood that the council charges you nine hundred quid for, right.

you nine hundred quid for, right? And he leans down to pull the rope out, but he's forgot he's left his glasses in his top suit jacket pocket. And as he bends down to pick up the rope, the glasses come right out his top pocket straight into the grave, bounce off the lid of my granda's coffin and right down the side. And him being a bit hungover, kinda forgets where he is for a nanosecond, and just goes, oh fuck. And he realised what he'd done, and he was a three year old running around the grave,

if you could just make your way to the cars please. Can you make your way, it's time for the reception, time for the purvey, make your way to the cars.'s time for the reception, time for the purvey, make your way to the cars and by osmosis the whole family just went, we're going nowhere. You've just dropped your glasses and my gran does grave, oh we're very very professional here, if you could just make your way, just make your way to the cars please, you just make your way to my mum Ethel, she went, oh, can't I get in the car? She went, you can't drive that hair, so I took the glasses out.

Now at this point, there is a second funeral trying to get by. Now, and now this is a proper Scottish funeral, okay? They have been drinking since that body took its last breath. They send a delegate down to our funeral. He comes wandering. What's the fucking hod up here? I said the funeral directors dropped his glasses in my granda's grave. Oh, he has no, has he?

Oh, he has. He now shouts back to his funeral. This arsehole undertaker's dropped his glasses in this boy's granda's grave. And they're like, no. They get out the cars and head towards our funeral. It's like the thriller video coming down the hill. There's now two funerals running about my granda's grave. And the wee funeral director just snaps. Fine! Fine! If you're not going to go back to your cars And the wee funeral director just snaps, right. He went, fine!

Fine! If you're not going to go back to your cars, I suppose I'm going to have to show you one of the tricks of the trade. Like that, ooh! And he went in to the back of his hearse, and there's a wee lock box that they open up, right. He's got a wee key, and he opens it up, and he pulls out this telescopic, kind of

stretch Armstrong literary picker thing right and the thing is he started to get a bit cocky at this point, he holmed it up but he was Zorro, shh shh shh. Now I don't know if you've ever been on holiday to a seaside location, be it Blackpool or Lards or whatever, and you have watched an arsehole dad punt all the kids' holiday money, £500, into one of those grab-a-teddy machines, right? And everybody around him becomes an expert, right a bit, left a bit, huh?

Grab it by the belly. Don, grab it by the belly, don't grab it by the ears, right. This is now what's going on round about my granda's grave, okay. Every time the funeral director went in with this litter picker thing, everybody had an opinion, oh, left a bit, right a bit,

grab it by the lenses, no the legs, it's just going to slip through the legs, you halfwit. Every time he managed to get a grip of it we were at the end, waving his glasses. I'm going with my glasses. Oh, but they're difficult. Funerals are difficult, you know. It's a stressful time. And I kind of remember my dad, right, I was like, I need to get away from my family, right.

And I thought the best way to get over the loss of a loved one is to get under the body of a stranger, right? I mean, who does they want to shag the bereaved? Right. So I get myself in a taxi in my big tight suit, right, and I head into town because I'm planning, I'm going to do a bit of the poofing. Right. With my big, floaty suit. And as I walk in, who's the first person that I see? That 22 year old with a 26 inch waist that sold me the bloody suit. And I'm like, oh, here we go, right.

And he came over and he went, eh, what's the funeral today? No, I thought I'd come out for a dress rehearsal, do you know? I mean, see how it rehearsal, do you know? See how it went, do you know what I mean? Well, just to pass on my condolences, he says, I went, well that's very nice of you, thank you very much. And he went, well, if you don't mind me saying, I actually quite enjoyed your measurements.

Oh, I thought, my heavens, right. And then he said, because I quite like a daddy bear. What a way to chat somebody up, I think you're all going to fat, you know what I mean? I mean, my morals would be like, because I thought I'm no like my dad at all, do you know what I mean? Plus, I couldn't be six foot five, 25 stone, him, 22 with a 26 inch waist. I'd have looked like Balloo the Bear, Pump and Mowgli.

LAUGHTER I was quite disappointed with being dead. Even though I'm no religious, I was annoyed that there was nothing. Because I had seen it happening for other people. I'd seen it when I was at my grandad's bedside before he passed away. We were sitting and he said to me, Scott, can you see them at the end of that bed? There was nobody at the end of the bed.

And I said to him, who is he you see? He went, oh, it's a big blonde. I'm a big blonde. He went, aye, I'm just having a look. He went, I cannae tell. You see the Doris Day, oh it's your grandmother. And I googled to see if Doris Day was alive or dead and she was still alive at this point and I went well, just to let you know, Doris Day is no dead and he turned to me and went oh good, I'll be your grandmother then. And he smiled and he looked so comforted by it because no it wasn it wasn't a Doris Day, but it was his Doris Day.

My gran had always been his Doris Day, a wee blonde. The last conversation my granddad had with my mum, he was sat up in the bed, my mum's beside him, and he said, I'm really sorry. He went, I've done everything to end this, but I cannae go because I know what the consequences are. And my mum said, well, what's the consequences? He went, I'm leaving you, and I'm leaving Scott and Jacqueline, my sister.

I'm leaving you, so who's going to look after you? At 90 years of age, he still had that sense of duty and love. And my mum said, it's fine, it's alright, it's my job now, I'll look after them. She went and Scotland Jackal in a great way, probably the best shape we'd been in for years, there was no crisis, there was no drama, we were doing alright. And my grandad says, will you promise? Yes. Goody said, and he closed his eyes and didn't speak again, passed a few days later, he had permission to let go, to stop worrying.

And as I lay in my hospital bed, my mum telling me she had no words for me as I was being taken into the ambulance between cardiac arrests, it didn't matter. It wasn't time for her to have words for me, like she had for my grandad. She looked after me again, as she always had done, getting me to hospital with minutes to spare and keeping her promise to my granddad. And something happened since that's made me think there might just have been someone there for me too. I just didn't know it.

I'm gonna take you to the first gig I done on stage after the heart attack. My first gig back, and I've got some friends that popped up from Manchester, surprised me. I was so pleased to see them, it was wonderful seeing them and I'm trying to chat to them at the bar and I get tapped on the shoulder. This guy's got a Covid mask on and he's like pal can I can I talk to you and I went I've got people here I've got people here and he went I want you to hold my hand. I went hold on a minute and I

people here and went I want you to hold my hand. I went hold on a minute. And I said to my two pals, I've got a fucking weirdo here. Right. I went right what is it? And this guy went give me your hand and close your eyes. And he took my hand and he pulled me in and he went big man that's a beazer. I'm going to have to keep my eye on you.

It was the paramedic that had saved me in the ambulance. And he was there with his wife, right? When I had my third cardiac arrest, I was resuscitated by the female paramedic who resuscitated me the first time, who it turns out was married to the male paramedic who resuscitated me the second time. I was being tag teamed by the Richard and Judy of the Scottish ambulance service. They were a defibrillating dynamic duo.

Typical man, he'd done half the work and tried to take all the credit. I went, what are you doing here? He went, we were in the back of that ambulance. I told you, I was going to get you through this. I was going to be at your first gig and I was going to get you a pint and I'm here to keep a promise. And then I said to my wife, but how did you manage to track me down?

He went, because basically what happened, I was still being a standupup comedian on the hustle, right. I gave him my Twitter handle, right. Follow me on social media, right. Like, click, subscribe, resuscitate. Right, it just... And the mad thing was, when I checked out my paramedic's social media profile later on, he sported the same football team as I did and my grandad did.

He was a trade juniorist, he was an independent supporter, he was a political animal. Not things that are unusual in the west of Scotland at all. But my grandad also played junior football, and there's only two junior football teams who play in green and white hoops. My grandad played for one, and this guy was involved with the other one and I got a wee tingle down my spine and I thought I wonder if God, G-O-D, sent anybody to help my mum keep a promise he would have sent me this man, do you know what I mean? So I was overwhelmed by it all and I'm choking for a cigarette and it's very difficult when you're standing in front of the folk,

I saved your life to go, and I just pop out for a fag. And I'm trying to make all sorts of excuses, I'm going, listen, I've made a great cut doing the drink, which I have, and I was off it for a good while, and I just kind of fell back into it, fell into bad, and I went, big man, we didn't bring you back to sit in the house. We didn't bring you back to be someone else. We brought you back to be you. And that was the first I felt that makes some sense to me

because everything about kind of rehab and getting better is I know I've come back more times than Jesus, but I don't want to live like him. Do you know what I mean? Right? The rehab that was prescribed to me, I thought, oh, maybe I'll get a gym or a personal trainer or swimming or cycling or something. No, they prescribed to me a cardiac rehab walking group.

Right. They just got a prescription pad and wrote move on it. I was the youngest person there by about 30 or 40 years, right, me and the cast are still game. So I'm on the walking group, right, I'm on the walking group and I'm trying to keep up with this particularly sprightly 68 year old, okay? Nobody told me the 68 year old used to be a marathon runner. I don't know if you've met a fit person before. If you've met a fit person before, they're always very keen to tell you that they're fit, okay?

But they'll post it on their social media, they'll mention it, and I'm walking alongside this sprightly 68 year old anyway. Well, I ran the Birmingham Marathon in 1993, you know. Oh, I'll fucking shut up. Right, just... LAUGHTER The thing about the cardiac ward, when I was in the cardiac ward, it was very, very democratic.

Right, cos 50% of the cardiac ward were fat folk like me. 50% of the cardiac ward were fit folk like them. And the fit folk were fucking furious and were breathing the same air as the fat folk like me. 50% of the cardiac ward were fit folk like them. The fit folk were fucking furious and were breathing the same air as the fat folk. So I'm trying to keep up with this particularly sprightly 68 year old and we're going up this big big big big hill. It was a very gentle incline, right? And he's rabid. I seen Stanley Gunnell doing his shit in the Great North Run in 99. And then I cannae hear him, like the audio stops, right?

And I'm getting white flashing lights in front of my eyes, I'm thinking, this is no good at all. And I see a bollard at the crest of the hill, and I get to that bollard, and sit myself down, and I've now got the 15 old gents all round about me, going, what's going on with the big man? What's going on with the big man? The big man doesn't look well. And I'm coming in and out of consciousness, not really sure. And every time I wake up, I'm thinking,

why am I in cocoon? Right? And... There are two cardiac rehab nurses who follow you around at the back to make sure nothing goes wrong. They're at the bottom of the hill. They can see the commotion at the top of the hill and they say it's me that's in trouble and they start shouting up to the old gens

just leave him just leave him he's 25 stone use him all in a cardiac event yourselves if you touch him he's a odd eye and I start to shake a wee bit and I come right off the board and start to roll down the hill right I know the old years give chase they're coming down after me it was like the season finale of last of the summer wine what happened to me I was having another heart attack. My blood pressure tablets were too high and I had a wee turn at 40 years of age. What a disgrace. Thing is, I realised things I've been through. I've actually rehabbed many times. I've rehabbed and I've recovered and actually I've mourned many versions of me already and I think sometimes for every one of those cardiac arrests it was an earlier

version of me finally escaping my body. It was perfect teenager, Borders Bookshop, Conscientious and Promising, Journalist Scott, boom gone. Out of control, carousing, undiagnosed bipolar Scott boom gone sex party crystal meth Scott boom gone and all those collectible dolls are available for sale on the mercy and my biggest revelation I suppose is I still don't believe in God but I do believe in god and mum and how maybe in G-O-D and mum and how maybe G-O-D gave her a wee help in hand and keeping her promise

by sending those particular paramedics. And I do believe in paramedics and cardiac surgeons and HIV consultants and psychotherapists and psychiatrists and doctors and nurses and the NHS and friendships and community and compassion and understanding and second and third chances. And I maybe even believe in myself these days because it takes all these things to help keep a dead man talking

and I thank all of them. I am and have been and for now continue to be Scott Agnew, a dead man talking. CHEERING Scott Agnew, Dead Man Talking was written and performed by me, Scott Agnew, it was produced by Lord Mackay and was a BBC Scotland production for Radio 4. Thanks for listening to the Comedy of the Week podcast from BBC Radio 4. If you want more, check out the Friday Night Comedy podcast, featuring The News Quiz and Dead Ringers.

Nature Bang. Hello. Hello. And welcome to Nature Bang. I'm Becky Ripley. I'm Emily Knight. And in this series from BBC Radio 4, we look to the natural world to answer some of life's big questions. Like, how can a brainless slime mould help us solve complex mapping problems?

And what can an octopus teach us about the relationship between mind and body? It really stretches your understanding of consciousness. With the help of evolutionary biologists... I'm actually always very comfortable comparing us to other species. Philosophers... You never really know what it could be like to be another creature. And spongologists. Is that your job title?

Are you a spongologist? Well, I am in certain spheres. It's science meets storytelling with a philosophical twist. It really gets at the heart of free will and what it means to be you. So if you want to find out more about yourself via cockatiels that dance, frogs that freeze and single-cell amoebas that design border policies, subscribe to Nature Bang. From BBC Radio 4, available on BBC Sounds.